Respawn
by mindprisoner
Summary: No one ever achieved greatness by playing it safe. After one of their own is taken out of commission, the Fake AH Crew vows revenge-no matter the cost.
1. Chapter 1

Geoff Ramsey was proud to say that he controlled exactly 89.2% of the crime in Achievement City. He rose to the top of his crime empire with good old fashioned blood, sweat, tears, and booze. Lots and lots of booze.

Well, and a top of the line crew. The Fake AH Crew, they were called. Some of the most skilled mercenaries, criminals, vagabonds, renegades, hackers, thieves, and various types of hoodlums the country had ever seen, all packed into a tightly-knit gang. Nobody pissed off one member of the Crew without pissing off all of them. And pissing off the Fake AH Crew was just about one of the worst mistakes anyone could make.

Crime Boss Geoffrey 'Lazer' Ramsey, was, as such, near the top of nearly every Most Wanted list within a radius of 200 miles. Yet, he took almost daily strolls through one of Achievement City's more scenic parks completely ignored by authorities. The Crew had more than a few contacts inside the ACPD, and a couple well placed bribes usually kept the force off their backs until they did something really ballsy. His normal route consisted of a quaint ice cream shop just across the street from the park. The small building was painted in pastels and manned by the eternally smiling waitstaff who always greeted Geoff with a smile and an offer for the daily flavor.

The daily flavor was drug money. The ice cream shop was one of the many distribution points for the Fake AH Crew's lucrative side business. Geoff was a man who did not cut corners, and absolutely refused to let anyone outside of the main Crew pick up money. He always kept the more fun pickups to himself, though. Geoff strolled in the shop, his arrival noted by a small bell over the door, and leaned gently by the register, greeting the cashier warmly. "The daily flavor, and a lemon-twist cone," Geoff ordered.

The cashier nodded and stepped into a back room, whispering something quickly before popping back out and grabbing a cone and an ice cream scoop. Geoff waited, playing with the button on his suit, and sending a quick text to Michael that no, grenades were not always the answer. The back room door opened again and Geoff looked up and stepped forwards to the counter, ready to grab his money and his ice cream.

Geoff was not amused when he saw a pistol aimed at him. The manager of the ice cream shop, one of his most trusted lackeys, held the gun and stared Geoff down. "Aw, come on, Dave, what's this about?" Geoff said, looking around at the unsuspecting patrons in the shop, noting the two kids at the corner booth. Geoff never liked getting children mixed up with the Crew's activities.

"You know exactly what this is about!" Dave replied, making a big show of releasing the safety on the gun.

"No, I don't. It's why I asked."

"Shut up!" Dave yelled. His volume caused the innocents in the shop to turn at him. A teen, who was previously enjoying a nice date with her girlfriend, shrieked when she noticed the gun. "You ain't the best anymore, Ramsey! There's a new player who's coming to take you down!"

"...Are you the new player?" Geoff asked, gesturing to the gun.

Dave's face contorted confusion for a brief moment, then settled on rage. "No! But this new guy, this new guy, he pays me triple what you are."

Geoff took a step towards the ice cream counter, where the cashier was holding the lemon-twist cone and staring wide-eyed at the spectacle. "Hey, how much for that cone?" He asked.

"Don't ignore me!" Dave screamed. "I'm _done_ being just a grunt in the Crew! I've been here years, Ramsey, _years!"_

Geoff briefly turned to look at Dave before turning his attention back to his ice cream. "Look, man, I just want my ice cream and my money. Don't be such an inconvenience." He handed a wad of cash to the cashier and grabbed the cone.

"An Inconvenience," Dave said. "I like it." Dave steadied his aim at Geoff. "Well, at least you gave me one good thing, Ramsey. A new name."

"Look, Dave," Geoff said, pulling over a chair and sitting down, taking a lick of his ice cream, "we both know you don't have the guts to shoot me. It's why you're working in here, remember?" Geoff had known Dave for years. Pulled him off the streets after he dropped out of high school and gave him a place in the Crew. Kid couldn't hurt a fly, and after hearing about what his home life had been like, it was no wonder to Geoff that Dave had an aversion to violence. An excellent drug dealer, and a better manager of the biggest distribution center the Crew had. Hell, Dave was even a vegetarian he was so anti-violence.

Dave pulled the trigger. He didn't flinch, aside from the knock-back of the pistol, even when his ex-boss' brains and blood stained the pink walls and his blue uniform. Customers screaming around him, Dave calmly leaned into Geoff's blank stare. "You don't know anything about me, Ramsey," Dave spat. Dave pulled back from the corpse and shoved the chair over, enjoying the dull thud the body made when it hit the ground.

The cashier stared in horror as Dave calmly walked out the back entrance and pulled out his phone. "It's done," He spoke when the call connected.

"Good. You've done well, Dave."

"I'm not Dave anymore. Dave died with Ramsey. I'm An Inconvenience."

The voice on the other end simply hung up, possibly so An Inconvenience wouldn't hear their laughter. An Inconvenience slipped into the city undetected through the dark alleys.

Meanwhile, police and ambulances were arriving at the ice cream shop, quickly whisking away body. The police refused to comment on the identity of the victim, even though they knew exactly who it was.

Geoff Ramsey had been murdered.


	2. Chapter 2

Geoff Ramsey was not a man known for his punctuality. So, when he didn't show at the safe house at the end of the day, no one really questioned it. Life went on. The Main Crew saw a news report about a shooting at the ice cream parlor and laughed it off, thinking someone was dumb enough to attack Geoff and paid their life.

They weren't entirely wrong. Ryan, the earliest riser in the Crew, and quite possibly the deadliest, was just settling in for a nice breakfast of toast, cereal, and diet coke. Ryan always liked to watch the news in the mornings, especially the crime report, just to see how much he or the Crew had fucked with daily life recently.

It was the one time of day where Ryan got a chance at peace and quiet, no guns, yelling, anything to piss him off. So, he turned on the TV, ready to watch his favorite news program, and settled back with his cereal. "...the victim of the Ice Cream Shooting has been identified," the newscaster announced. Ryan leaned forwards slightly, eager to hear who Geoff offed.

"Crime boss Geoff Ramsey, leader of the infamous Fake AH Crew was shot to death yesterday," one of Geoff's mugshots appeared on the screen, and Ryan dropped his cereal bowl, "by the manager of Nothing But Ducks Ice Cream, in what witnesses describe as a dispute over payment."

"Get in here!" Ryan yelled, throwing his coke can against the wall in an attempt to summon the rest of the Crew. Ryan stared open-mouthed at the TV, trying to comprehend what was just said.

"Jesus fuck, Ryan!" Michael yelled back, his voice muffled through a door. "It's damn early! Shut up!"

"It's about Geoff, you cretin!" Well, that got the Crew up. Jack slammed his door open and ran down the hall, Michael groggily following.

"Really, Ryan?" Jack scolded, gesturing to the spilled milk on the floor and the burst coke can.

"Shut up!" Ryan said, pointing wildly at the TV.

"We have one of the nation's top crime analysts here with us today, Mr. Edgar Boveen," The newscaster said, introducing a clean-cut man in a suit looking far more expensive than any Geoff had ever owned. "Mr. Boveen, how will this affect crime in Achievement City?"

"Well," Mr. Boveen answered, touching his chin thoughtfully, "The Fake AH Crew is notoriously unorganized." Michael flipped off the TV and turned to go back to his room. "With the death of their leader..." Michael whipped back around and froze. Jack sat down hard on the couch. "...I believe that we are in the dying days of gang activity in Achievement City. Adding the knowledge that Ramsey was killed by one of his own men, it's safe to assume that the Crew is falling apart from the inside."

Ryan clicked the power button on the remote and the three sat in silence for a moment, interrupted only by Ryan chucking the remote through the screen.

"He's...He's fucking _gone_ ," Michael whispered.

"Who killed him? Who in the _hell_ thought they could get away with something like this?" Jack asked, clenching his fists so hard his knuckles were white.

"Dave," Ryan replied. His face had turned to cold, hard steel. No emotion. No remorse. Ryan was about to snap.

"Dave?" Michael repeated. "Bullshit. He couldn't-"

"He _did,"_ Ryan said.

"He started crying when Geoff carved the turkey on Thanksgiving!" Jack recalled, blinking away tears. "Dave's been here since almost the beginning. It doesn't add up."

"We could always ask him what happened," Michael suggested. "And then fucking stab his eyes out and leave him to die."

"I was thinking more slow torture," Ryan said. "Maybe stalk him a few days and then-"

"Why don't we discuss then when everyone is awake and knows the...the situation," Jack said, standing up. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge, not wanting to take the day sober anymore.

Michael nodded and walked back down the hall, kicking in the doors of the two bedrooms still occupied. "Get up," Michael announced. "We have shit to do." He dodged an expertly aimed pillow. Michael turned back towards the older two men. They were sitting hunched over on the couch, the couch where Geoff had explained hundreds of heists to them before. The couch where Geoff had spent three days sick after Gavin bet him $20 that he wouldn't drink milk two weeks past the date. The couch where Geoff had called Ryan a pussy for not drinking alcohol, and was doused with diet coke.

The couch Geoff would never see again. Michael shook his head, refusing to cry. It's not like Geoff was the first the Crew had lost. Ray, that nerdy sniper kid, was the first of the Main Crew to die. They never should've let him arm the explosives; he barely knew how to operate a remote trigger! The Crew's own carelessness got Ray killed. They could do nothing but pour out a Capri-Sun for him and swear to never be so stupid again.

But this time, this time there was a singular person at fault. Michael had already vowed revenge, and he was certain that Ryan and Jack had as well.

When Gavin pattered into the room and saw the broken cereal bowl, milk seeping into the carpet, and the other three looking uncharacteristically grim, he immediately knew something was up. "Morning," Gavin said, attempting to lighten the mood, "wonderful day, isn't it?" Jeremy shuffled in behind Gavin, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning.

"Geoff got shot," Ryan stated. Jeremy shrugged, muttering something about waking him up just for that. The Crew was grazed with bullets every other day, and someone got shot in the arm or something at least twice a year. "He's dead."

A silence dropped over the room. "So who are we killing?" Jeremy asked, hopping over the couch to sit down. Gavin leaned over the back, listening intently.

Jack sighed. "Dave."

Gavin burst out laughing. "Wow, you got us! Good joke, good one. Where's the camera?" He smiled widely at the Crew, but dropped it when no one else looked amused. "Oh, you're serious."

"We know where he lives and shit," Jeremy said, "Why don't we just go after the dick?"

"He's probably fled by now, especially if it was an accident. Would you go back to your house if you killed the boss of the most badass crew in the country?" Jack said.

"It wasn't an accident," Michael hissed. "You don't just fucking _shoot_ someone by mistake."

Gavin had pulled out his phone, and was quickly scrolling through it, looking through the police files using a crooked cop's login. "There's already a warrant out for Dave's arrest. He's wanted for questioning, and he's prime suspect in the shooting." Gavin announced. "This was added to the ACPD network 16 hours ago. Dave's got about an 18 hour head start on us."

"He could be halfway across the country by now," Jeremy scowled. Jeremy may have been the newest member of the Main Crew, but the familial bond that connected all of them had quickly reached him. He was just as distraught as the rest of them, but his lack of experience with the Crew made him reluctant to go on a wild goose chase of revenge for just one guy.

"Then we'd better start looking," Jack declared.


	3. Chapter 3

After going through everything they had on the guy, Gavin could find absolutely nothing on Dave's whereabouts. Gavin found so little, he was convinced that he had made negative progress. Dave hadn't been to his apartment, he hadn't paid for anything with a card, and the military grade face recognition software that Gavin had "borrowed" from the feds hadn't picked up anyone matching Dave's description on any city security cam.

Gavin was not amused, to say the least. It was usually his job to track down targets for the Crew using his above average knowledge of computer and camera hacking, a skill he frequently wrote off as simply pressing buttons. Previously, only one person had been able to hide from Gavin longer than a few hours; Ryan, on one of his Murder Breaks, had successfully avoid being found for three days by knocking out the city's entire power grid so he "could get some peace and quiet."

However, as Dave hadn't incapacitated the city's power supply yet, Gavin was forced to assume that Dave had fled the Achievement City immediately after the shooting. A nagging thought at the back of his brain forced Gavin to consider that he had been outsmarted. Being the circumstantially smartest person on the Crew, Gavin did not enjoy that thought. He ran one final scan of the cameras, knowing that his search would come up empty, and scowled at his monitor.

Meanwhile, Jack, the impromptu leader of the Fake AH Crew, was very quickly learning how much micro-management had to be done to keep everything running decently smooth. There were so many teams and teams within teams that it was nearly impossible to keep everything straight without a highly detailed spreadsheet detailing exactly which member of the Crew was on what team. Not to mention the fusion teams, consisting of two or more teams, going on a job together. Jack was gaining a whole new kind of respect for Geoff.

A giant whiteboard was set up near the couch, where Jack was drawing out a diagram of each team and the jobs they had taken on for the week. He could practically feel Kdin's annoyance; Kdin had been the go-between for the Main Crew and the large outer fringe for years now and probably knew everyone outside the Main Crew so well that he sent them birthday cards on time, a feat the Main Crew had never bothered to attempt even among themselves. Jack could barely keep the newest Crew members straight.

A hastily set up Skype call let Kdin see the disorganized monstrosity Jack was scrawling on the whiteboard. Occasionally, Jack would stop and stare at the board in total bewilderment. Neither he nor Kdin knew exactly how Geoff had managed everything, but damn it if they weren't doing their best to pick up the pieces left behind. Everything would settle eventually, or so they hoped.

If there was one person in the entire Crew who didn't know what to think about the whole situation, it was Jeremy. He had only been inducted into the Main Crew two months ago, and was still walking on eggshells, despite everyone's friendly attitude towards him. Hell, it was possible that everyone hated Jeremy, and only put up with him because Geoff told them too.

With Geoff gone, Jeremy had reason to believe his life was in danger. He had locked himself in his room under the pretext of mourning, counted his bullets, and readied his parachute should he need to make a quick getaway and jump out of the penthouse window. Geoff had been the only one that Jeremy fully trusted in the Crew, not that the others knew that. Jeremy had always prided himself in his acting ability.

Still, the others seemed very serious about this whole avenge Geoff thing. _That was a plus of being in a tight-knit Crew, if one of us dies, the others go on a suicide mission for revenge_ , Jeremy thought. People died every day. The Crew killed people every day. Just because it was one of their own this time shouldn't be much different, right?

Ryan and Michael had decided that they didn't want to sit around waiting for Gavin to find something, they were too selfish and clueless about running the Crew to stay and help Jack, and they didn't want to break their bad-ass motifs around Jeremy, whom they were still cautiously unfamiliar with. So, they went down to the Nothing But Ducks Ice Cream Parlor and decided to get answers for themselves.

Unfortunately for them, the shop was closed, having been turned into a crime scene and in need of some serious clean up. The pair stared at the police tape blocking the door solemnly, knowing that they might never get revenge for Geoff, if the muttered cursing from Gavin all morning had been any indication. The bright police tape clashed horribly with the soft pastels of the shop, drawing the gaze and making it that much harder to look away.

The two stuck out almost more than the police tape, with Ryan in his mask and Michael with his assault rifle. They didn't stick out more than the weirdo with a paper bag on his head walking towards them, though. Michael moved towards his gun, ready to take out this threat. In his mind, it was probably Dave, and the bag was why Gavin hadn't picked anything up with his fancy software.

"The Vagabond and Mogar, isn't it?" the man asked, making a big show of looking at his watch.

"Who's asking?" Ryan replied.

"Oh, no one," the man singsonged. "An Inconvenience wanted me to give you this." He tossed a wadded up towel at Michael's feet.

"Fuckin' who?" Michael asked, nudging the towel with his foot. There was something rather solid inside, but neither Michael nor Ryan were taking chances bending over with this bag-headed dude staring them down.

"The man who killed your _precious_ boss," the man said. "He goes by An Inconvenience now. Don't go looking for him. Or me."

"Look, I don't know who you are, and I don't want to know, but I do want to know what you know, because you know what happened to Geoff, and I want to know what you know about that," Michael spat, leveling his gun. He paused and glanced at Ryan. "Did that make sense?" Ryan shrugged in response.

"It doesn't matter what I know, since you'll be dead or irrelevant before you find out," the man stated, making a show of checking one watch, then the other. "Oh, look at the time! I really must be going. You understand how it is." The man saluted the Crew members, and then took off running down the street.

Michael raised his gun to shoot. Ryan held his hand out, signaling for Michael to stop. "Wouldn't want him to be too dead to talk, would we?" Ryan said, pulling a few throwing knives out of his pocket. He tossed one casually down the road, sticking it deep into the man's side.

Yet the man did not slow. Ryan threw another knife, to a similar effect, and the man kept running even though he had two puncture wounds bleeding steadily down his torso. Ryan took off sprinting behind him, Michael following closely. Michael dared to take a few shots at the man, but missed much to his and Ryan's annoyance.

The mystery man led them on a wild chase through the sidewalk and alleys before somehow managing to lose them in a move that made Ryan wonder what kind of low-budget, poorly written film he was living in. The man had turned a corner, and when the pair followed seconds later, he was nowhere to be seen. The turn lead to a dead end brick wall, with nothing but a dumpster occupied by an absolutely vile cat that attacked Michael three times while he and Ryan searched for any sign of the man.

Eventually, the two accepted defeat, and, at Ryan's request, they trudged back to the dropped towel. Ryan poked the lump with his foot, and being satisfied with not exploding, he kicked off the top fold, revealing the barrel of a gun. He knelt down, unwrapping the rest of their 'present', as he called it, and uncovered a gun with a sticky note attached to the handle.

 _Thought you might like this. I mean, I took Geoffs life, so here's a little somethin in return. Its the gun that killed him if you couldnt figure it out.  
-An Inconvenience_

Ryan carefully re-wrapped their present. They had finger prints now, and a writing sample. If Gavin couldn't do something with that, the Crew may have already lost.


	4. Chapter 4

Gavin didn't have the heart to tell the others that he couldn't use the fingerprints on the gun or the handwriting on the note to track down Dave. Or, rather, An Inconvenience, as he was apparently calling himself. Gavin had to admit, the name fit him, what with all the bullshit work he was putting in to find the guy.

Hours and hours of security cam footage, sped up to 10x speed, flickered on four monitors in front of Gavin. He'd managed to trace the first ten minutes of Dave's journey into hiding, but as security cameras only covered so much of the city, Gavin was forced to branch out from the nearest cameras to ones on the other side of the city, hoping to catch even a glimpse of the man as he made his escape. Another monitor held a word document, listing the nearby cities and towns Gavin planned to search next.

He really was only doing it to keep busy. Gavin had become quite discouraged that anyone would ever locate Dave a few hours ago. And the mystery man Michael and Ryan discovered was proving to be even more elusive. The camera monitoring the front of the ice cream shop had been disabled a few minutes prior to their arrival, as had all other cameras in the vicinity.

A second word document listed Gavin's hypotheses for how the man managed to not only know exactly when and where Michael and Ryan were going, but how he managed to kill every single camera in a ten block radius at exactly the same time. The list began with the basic, predictable methods; they'd been bugged, someone was snitching; to more outlandish explanations; magic, time travel. All of them bothered Gavin an equal amount, because all options were difficult to fight. Gavin gave his room and computer a once over and found nothing, but it didn't do anything to convince him that the rest of the penthouse wasn't tapped.

An obnoxious bird-call snapped Gavin out of his depressive mood, if only for a moment. He glanced down, and saw a text from an unknown number. ' _Meet us outside The Doorbell to Hell in 15 minutes. We have an offer you simply can't refuse. COME ALONE.'_

Gavin frowned. Either someone in the Crew got a new burner phone, and was messing with him rather distastefully, given the circumstances, or he was receiving a real request by someone to walk into an unknown situation alone. In any case, it was certainly something Gavin wasn't going to do. He'd been pranked far too many times by the Crew, and no matter how stupid this mystery texter thought, Gavin was not one to err from caution.

Thus, Gavin decided to take backup, namely the rest of the Main Crew, along with him. "I got this text, telling me to go alone to The Doorbell to Hell, right?" He pitched, holding up his phone and ignoring the faces of skepticism from the Crew. "Who wants to go with me and check it out?"

The Crew was silent for a moment, exchanging looks. "Gavin," Jack said, "I don't think that's a good idea. It could be a trap, and-"

"I know it could be a trap, that's why I want you to come along with me," Gavin interjected.

"I put two knives in a guy and he didn't even slow down," Ryan pointed out. "If someone like that is waiting for you, it could be bad. Real bad."

"This person also got your number. This isn't just some wannabe Crew member, it's someone who cracked layers of security to find out how to reach you," Jack added. Jack thought of the other ways someone could get Gavin's number, and his mind lingered on a snitch. He tried to shove the thought from his mind to no avail.

Gavin huffed. "This could be the only lead we have on Dave or Bag Man, and you just want to ignore it?"

"Do you want to end up like Geoff?" Jack snapped. He stood up violently and leaned into Gavin's face. Gavin looked away and squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to cry. Jack softened, and took Gavin by the shoulder. "I'm sorry," He said, "I didn't mean-I just don't want anyone else-"

There was an awkward silence, the only sounds were Jack patting Gavin's back in an attempt of comfort. "Well, now that that's over," Michael said, standing from his lean on the wall, "I'm gonna go mug a guy. Gavin, if you're tired of staring at a screen alone in the dark, feel free to come with." Michael grabbed his keys and headed to the penthouse door.

"I have a few things I need to look over the footage for," Gavin responded, pulling away from Jack and heading back to his room.

"You have no life. C'mon! It'll be fun," Michael insisted, slung his assault rifle around his shoulder and stuck his pistols into their holsters. He winked at Gavin, hoping the other man would pick up on his intentions.

"Oh. OH," Gavin said, and Michael wondered if he could make it any more obvious. "Sure, why not boii? It's been too long since Nice Dynamite had an outing together." He skipped through the door and Michael closed it behind them.

"So they're going to Doorbell to Hell, right?" Jeremy asked.

"Oh yeah, no doubt," Ryan responded, and began to stock his weapons bag.

"I'm following them too, Ryan," Jack said. "Is my sniper still on the fridge, or did you move it?"

* * *

Gavin anxiously checked the time as they neared The Doorbell to Hell. It was one of the seediest bars in Achievement City, with a reputation for selling the strongest drugs in town, freshly imported from crooked sailors at the nearby docks. It was far enough on the edge of the city that the cops couldn't be bothered to go out there to even attempt to crack down on the place. As one of the few places in town the Crew didn't control, Michael had wanted to take the Fake AH Mobile to assert dominance, but Gavin convinced him that taking his own purple car would prove that he had in fact come alone.

The Doorbell to Hell was run by the aptly named Dog Squad, who used trained dogs to ascertain that none of their own product was being taken out of the bar, or their reputation would be tarnished by amateurs selling common street drugs inside. The few times Geoff had tried to negotiate with them had ended in failure, mostly because the Dog Squad Dogs had a rather keen interest in Ray, and would attack him on sight.

Michael parked the car a few blocks away from the bar, and handed Gavin a pistol and a flash bang, just in case things "go to shit." Michael climbed a rusted fire escape to a roof with a clear view of The Doorbell to Hell, in all its dilapidated glory. He watched as Gavin strode down the street, somehow feigning confidence even though the man stepped around every used needle, broken beer bottle, and pool of vomit in the unkempt parking lot with the exact opposite of elegance.

Gavin walked up to the door, checked the time (exactly 17 minutes from when he received the text), and rang the titular doorbell. An eye slot on the door slipped open inches above Gavin's height, and two dark eyes stared him down. "We ain't open yet. Y'all'll have to wait for your fix," The man behind the door said, and began to shut the slot.

"Actually," Gavin said, sticking his finger in the slot, keeping it from closing fully, "I received a text, telling me to meet someone here. If this is about an alliance between the Dogs and the Crew, I'd be more than happy to-"

"You from the Crew?"

"Erm, yes?"

"You the British twat?"

Gavin decided he didn't have time to be annoyed. "Yes."

"Aw, shit. Wait there. _Don't move."_ The man retreated from the door, and Gavin could hear a short conversation inside.

The door suddenly flew open, nearly hitting Gavin in the face. "Ah! Gavino!" A man wearing a paper bag on his head greeted Gavin with an overly tight hug. Gavin immediately wondered if this was the same guy Michael and Ryan had encountered earlier. He then wondered if there was anything under the towel the man was wearing. "So nice to see you!" The man didn't release his hug.

"Who the hell are you?" Gavin asked.

"Oh, I'm no one, really. I just wanted to return Vagabond's knives to him."

"Then hand them over," Gavin said, trying to pull away from the hug.

"Now there's where the problem comes in," the man said gravely. "See, I wanted to just hand these to you and send you on your way, but then you had to go and bring others. He's up there, on that roof," the man pointed square at Michael, "Waiting to shoot me as soon as he gets a clear shot. Thanks for being my shield, I really appreciate it."

Gavin attempted to reach his pistol, but his arms were squeezed tight to his sides.

"Sorry about this, but since you chose to bring along a pal, Ryan is getting his knives back from your corpse." The man loosened his grip slightly to maneuver the throwing knives from under his watches, nicking his skin in the process. He held one in each hand, pressing them gently against Gavin's abdomen. "Nothing personal, but I guess it's better to kill you now. Shame, really, I was gonna let you join our little group." The man shoved the knives in as far as they would go and twisted them, trying to do as much damage as possible. He pushed Gavin to the ground and slipped into the bar.

Ryan and Jack heard the screams even though they were still three blocks away. Jack floored it, trying to get them to The Doorbell to Hell faster than was humanly possible.

Michael was forced to climb down the fire escape on the far side of the building to Gavin. He dropped his rifle on the roof, trying to make it to Gavin as quickly as he could. Sprinting around the building, he ripped off his jacket, and used it to staunch the blood that was running generously from Gavin's stomach. "Fuck! Gavin, Gavin, I'm sorry! This is my fault!" Michael said, kneeling beside his friend.

Ryan and Jack pulled up in the Fake AH Mobile and ran out to their Crewmates. "What happened?" Jack yelled, helping Michael put pressure on the wounds.

"He got fucking stabbed by that dick in the bag!" Michael replied.

"We need to get him to the hospital," Ryan said.

"The hospital, Ryan? We're criminals! We can't just walk into a place where we're responsible for half the people in there!" Michael retorted.

"Can we even move him?" Jack asked.

Ryan crouched down. "I don't like it any more than you, but right now we're on enemy turf with relatively little firepower, and Gavin's bleeding out. It's our best bet," He said, trying to pick Gavin up as gently as possible.

"It's not the first time one of us has gotten stabbed, Ryan," Jack said. "If we take him back to the penthouse, we can-"

"Do you see how deep these stab wounds are?" Ryan said. "They're almost to the hilt. Wanna guess how many organs that bitch hit?" Ryan opened the car door with his foot, and slid Gavin inside. He crawled onto the floor in front of the seat and resumed pushing on the wounds. "So get in this car and drive his ass to the hospital!"

Jack hesitated for a few precious seconds before deciding to jump in the car and speed to the nearest hospital. The car had barely stopped moving when Ryan jumped out carrying Gavin, Michael following close behind yelling for a doctor.

"Wait, wait, calm down!" The receptionist called. "Tell me what's happened and I can get you in with a doctor as soon as possible."

"He's fuckin' got two knives in him!" Michael told her.

The receptionist frowned. "We don't take gunshots or stab wounds here. We don't have the resources to treat all of them. I'm sorry. The Achievement City Trauma Center across town can take care of your friend."

"He didn't get stabbed, he fell on the knives," Ryan lied. He knew that it wasn't very convincing, especially with his mask on. The receptionist narrowed her eyes. "He's very clumsy."

"We can't take him. Try the Trauma Center." She returned to tapping at her computer.

Michael released a string of cuss words at the receptionist, who didn't react in any way. Ryan was hurrying back to the car to try and make it to the Trauma Center as quickly as possible. He was just pushing out the door when a doctor stopped him.

"Hey! You, with the bleeding kid," A bearded doctor called from the emergency doors. "I'll treat this." The receptionist turned and opened her mouth to protest, but Ryan was already being herded through the doors. "Put him on here," the doctor pushed over an emergency stretcher, and Ryan carefully placed Gavin down. "Sir, you'll have to leave. Someone will update you as soon as we can."

Ryan nodded and backed into the waiting area, watching the doctor push the stretcher down the hall. Ryan pulled Michael away from the receptionist, who was still on the receiving end of every curse Michael had ever learned. Before long, Jack ran in and quickly found out the situation from Ryan and Michael. Jeremy was updated on their conditions through text, and they all waited impatiently for a doctor to run out telling them that Gavin would be fine in a few days.

* * *

Barely ten minutes had passed before the bearded doctor came back through the doors. "The procedure was a success," he said, and the three men sighed with relief. "Would you like to see him?" At their nods, the doctor led them through the halls to an out of the way operating room. "He's right through there. He's feeling the effects, so don't expect much animation out of him."

The three pushed into the room. "Hey, boii," Michael said. He noticed that they had shaved Gavin's chest, which was bare for everyone to see, for the procedure. And he was still bleeding. And not bandaged. And not hooked up to any machines at all. Michael ran up and felt his knees weaken at the sight.

 _Got ya!  
-Beardo_

Words were carved into Gavin's chest, his lifeless chest that wasn't responding to anything, no matter how hard Michael hit him or how loud he screamed. Ryan had run out of the operating room in search of the 'doctor' that had done this, while Jack tried to restrain Michael, ignoring the tears running down his own face.

When the hospital security came to drag them out and stop the commotion they were making, Michael pulled free of Jack's grasp, and quickly dispatched them with a head shot each from his pistol. "Michael, we can't stay here," Jack said, using his most calming voice.

Michael refused to respond, choosing instead to collapse on the ground and sob.


	5. Chapter 5

Michael took Gavin's death the hardest. It had been _his_ idea to go to the at the Doorbell, it had been _him_ who didn't shoot the bagged fuck before he stabbed Gavin, it had been _his_ fault Gavin died. In the hours since Beardo, or whatever that cunt's name was, murdered Gavin, Michael had sworn vengeance to every higher power he could think of. He alternated between carefully cleaning his rifle, pacing around the penthouse, and sitting on the balcony. He and Gavin had spent long hours on that balcony, leaning over the rails, beers in hand, discussing some stupid hypothetical situation or taking pot shots at shit they threw off the balcony or just standing in a comfortable silence.

What Michael wouldn't give to make fun of that dumb British accent one more time.

He hadn't washed the blood off his face and arms from leaning over Gavin's body and sobbing. Ryan was the one to pull Michael off, once he returned from his chase of that fucker Beardo, or whatever that asswipe was called. Ryan would never admit it, but Beardo had pulled off the cleanest getaway that he had ever seen. At least with Dave, there had been some surveillance footage, but all the security cameras had been disabled before Beardo even entered the building. Jack held Michael whilst Ryan covered up the markings on Gavin's chest, made a fake id card for him, and took his body to the hospital morgue.

It was the hardest thing Ryan ever had to do for the Crew. He barely held himself together behind his mask, telling himself over and over that this was the only option for Gavin to get a burial outside of a shallow grave in a field on the outskirts of the city; they had no way to take his body, and nothing would change the fact that he was dead. When Ryan slid his body into the morgue refrigerator, he took one last look at Gavin, once so full of life and questions and the best tech specialist he had ever seen, still and silent in death.

Jack refused to let anyone see him mourn. He could barely speak more than one word at a time without his voice cracking, so he chose not to speak at all. He couldn't blink without tears flooding his eyes, so he slapped on a pair of sunglasses. Jack drove the Crew back to the penthouse, Jack sent a text to Gavin's open-secret girlfriend Meg, Jack slipped right back into his new routine of coordinating the jobs of the Crew. Jack appeared to be completely unaffected by Gavin's death, a facade which earned him a whole speech of profanities from Michael. Michael had shut up and left him alone the second Jack shot him a blank stare that spoke volumes about how internalized his pain was.

The paranoia wasn't helping Jack much, either. Two of the Main Crew murdered in as many days? It didn't sit well with Jack at all, and he transferred three teams from mercenary work to guards for the penthouse building. The transfer eased Jack's mind for a while, and the four shots of vodka eased it further. It made the thought of going out to collect the money from the fronts in the city almost bearable. Almost.

Jeremy had gone out to collect what information he could on this new rival gang. He was new enough to the Crew that his face wasn't plastered on telephone poles with a large bounty underneath, so Jeremy could saunter into any crime den in the city, Crew affiliated or not, order a drink, and chat up some informants. The Pit was one such fine establishment; a Crew owned bar with a side room full of weapons with a questionable legal status. Jeremy personally hated The Pit, but anyone who wanted to make a move against the Main Crew would likely need to stock up on weapons.

The Pit was never overly busy, but a liquor license and cheap ammo kept a steady stream of patrons in the doors. The only true regulars were the arms dealers, about five men and women who each got their goods from different sources. Most of them had foreign contacts, but occasionally a weapons factory employee would get bold. Every few months, one of the dealers wouldn't show up around their regular times, and another looking for money would quietly slip into the regular crowd.

Jeremy sat down at the bar and ordered a drink. He had barely taken his first sip when a young woman in expensive looking clothes slid into the seat next to him. "Come here often?" She asked, flagging down the bartender.

"When things at work get rough." Jeremy recognized her almost immediately. Mica Burton. She had been selling at The Pit longer than Jeremy had been in the Crew, much less the Main Crew, never disappearing like the other dealers had dozens of times over. If the rumors were true, her father was rich, and Mica had been skimming off his wealth for years to fund her arms deals. The one time she was confronted about the rumors, she broke a man's arm and politely informed him that she had clawed to the top with her own money.

"Aw, bad day at the office?"

"You could say that."

The bartender placed a brightly colored drink in front of Mica. "Y'know," she said, running her finger around the edge of the glass, "this seems to be the place to go when everything's gone to shit."

Jeremy chuckled and shifted in his seat. His mind flooded with possibilities to find out what he needed to know without blowing his cover. Jeremy knew that Mica knew that he knew she sold weapons. The trick was getting her to believe that he was just a simple mercenary. "And why's that?"

"They sell the best drinks in the city here." Mica always hated running through the motions, getting her clients to buy a gun or grenade or rocket launcher without ever saying the name of a weapon. Still, it kept her relatively safe from any cop that tried to bust her, which was more than she could say about some of the other dealers that had been led out of The Pit in handcuffs.

Jeremy snorted and placed his beer glass down on the bar. "I'd never figure that out."

"Might be because you're used to shit," Mica replied. She glanced up at the bartender and winked. "I could get you something with a little more kick." Mica finished her drink and stood up. "Unless you're chicken." She slipped off to a nondescript door and disappeared through it after a quick glance back. Jeremy sighed, and followed her, patting the knife hidden in his belt.

He was a little uncomfortable with how much Mica's script felt like prostitution, especially the whole following her into a darkened room. On the other hand, Jeremy was impressed with the whole escort cover; it was much more likely to get a blind eye from cops, even ones that hadn't been bribed to hell and back.

"So, what exactly did you have in mind?" Mica asked. She had perched herself on the edge of a metal table, which took up a majority of the floor space in the room.

"Oh, I'm not looking to buy," Jeremy answered, closing the door behind him. "I'm looking for a buyer."

"No deal, kid. All my clients are anonymous and confidential." Mica pulled out a small pistol and passed it from hand to hand. She didn't mean it as an outright threat, Mica liked to let her more confrontational buyers know that she was never unarmed.

Jeremy frowned. As much as he should've counted on Achievement City's most successful arms dealer carrying a weapon, it had completely slipped his mind with all the drama of the day. He had literally brought a knife to a gun fight. "I'm not looking to fight, either," Jeremy said, holding up his hands. "I want information, and I'm willing to pay. Well."

"And who's saying I have the information you want?" Mica casually twirled her pistol around her finger.

"You're the biggest weapons dealer in the city. Word is, no deal goes through without your input."

Mica chuckled. "My reputation precedes me, then." She jumped off the table and stepped towards Jeremy. "So, who're you looking for? This just screams 'revenge'."

"I want to know who made the biggest purchase in the past month."

Mica stared at him a second, then began to laugh. She patted him hard on the shoulder. "You're out of your depth, kid," she said after regaining her composure. "The Fake AH Crew's been buying up most of the city's stock for the past year. If you're hunting the Crew, you might as well kill yourself now. Nobody fucks with them and lives to tell about it."

Jeremy scowled. "Then who's the second biggest buyer?"

"Freelancers," Mica said, pinching Jeremy's cheeks. "Might be one of your mercenary buddies, assuming you are a merc. Listen, if this is your first time getting "revenge"," Mica gave exaggerated air quotes, "you might want to hire someone a little more experienced."

Jeremy slouched. This had gotten him nowhere, and Mica was no closer to giving out names than she had at the beginning of their interaction. "One more question."

"Shoot." Mica made a finger gun with her empty hand, and 'shot' it at the wall.

"If fucking with the Crew is suicide, then why was Geoff Ramsey's murder all over the news?"

Mica froze. "Do I look like some detective to you? What happens in the Crew is none of my business. As long as someone is putting money in my pocket, I don't care who runs this city," she snapped, glaring at Jeremy. "Look kid, stay out of things that don't concern you. The Crew is fucking _dangerous_. Almost all the high explosives in the city go to them through one dealer or another, and I heard they broke into the military base and stole two jets just to try and land a motorcycle on them. They're crazy, heavily armed, and well funded."

"And that's your expert opinion?"

"That's my _sane_ opinion. Now do you want to buy something or not?"

Jeremy paused. If most of the weapons went to the Crew, could it be possible that all the independent mercs were trying to move in? "Are there any deals that you don't know about?"

"I don't know about any deals. I don't even know why you're back here," Mica raised her gun. "Only paying customers are allowed."

"Aggressive business model." Jeremy felt for the door handle behind him.

"Thanks," Mica said. Jeremy opened the door. "A word of advice, kid: stop asking so many damn questions." 

* * *

Geoff gasped, sitting up sharply and immediately hitting his head. "Mother _fucker_!" he cursed. His head hurt like hell, not entirely from busting it on whatever was a few inches above his face. He felt around and found not much space around him. Geoff cursed again. Outside of his tiny prison, he could hear muffled voices moving closer.

Great, someone finally got the drop on him and shoved him into a cooler. What kind of fucker shoves _The Geoff Ramsey_ into a tiny ass cooler? A soon to be dead fucker, that's who. Probably that dickbag Dave. That was the last thing Geoff could remember, Dave pulling a gun on him and screaming about some other bitch moving in on _his_ city. Dumbass must've panicked and knocked him out.

Geoff started banging on the sides of the cooler, trying to get the attention of whoever was talking about some stupid shit outside. There would be hell to pay when Geoff gets out. "Hey, assholes!" Geoff yelled, accenting each syllable with a hit to the side of the cooler. Some clattering made it to inside Geoff's cooler. Good, he scared them.

Geoff calmed down slightly when he heard a hiss of the cooler being open. Instead of light pouring in from above him, like Geoff would've expected from a cooler, it came from just above his head. Suddenly, Geoff was being pulled out of his cooler headfirst, and he sprang up to a fighting position almost immediately.

Two people in long, white doctors gowns stared at him. One passed out, and the other ran screaming. "Shit, don't do that!" Geoff said, running after the doctor. Geoff tackled the doctor down. "Where the hell am I?"

The doctor didn't stop screaming. Geoff sighed and bashed the doctor's head into the ground for the silence. He stood up and looked around. Three examination tables stood in the middle of the room, and a row of stainless steel fridges dominated one wall. The fridge that Geoff had formerly occupied rested open.

A morgue.

Well, no time like the present. Geoff picked up the unconscious doctors and shoved them in their own fridges. "See how you like it," he muttered. Geoff suddenly realized that at some point, he'd been stripped of his fine-ass suit. A quick search left it no where to be found, but Geoff did find some decent scrubs and a doctor coat. Geoff strolled out of the morgue. It certainly wasn't the strangest situation he'd ever found himself in.

The rest of the Crew just might die laughing when Geoff told them some fucker shoved him in a morgue.


End file.
